Bread and Candy
by Demonic Muffin
Summary: [revamp work in progress]
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Javert was a man of rigid morals. He lived by harsh and strict rules, and he never once strayed from these rules. The creatures of the night, the gamin and the whores littering the street, they all disgusted him, for they did not abide by any rules. They stole and murdered and spread their filth like disease-infested rats, hell-bent on causing chaos and only in it for themselves. Javert would rather be a dead man than be forced to associate with these kinds of people, these people that did not understand, or did not care about, the Law.

He walked the cobblestone street with a confident, almost proud stride. He had nothing to fear. He owned these streets. He could go down the darkest alley and feel completely safe, though he never faltered in staying alert. His pale eyes glimmered with an almost-need to find someone guilty of a crime. It was too quiet tonight; something terrible was bound to happen.

He took a moment to gaze to the left of him, at the dark, swirling waters of the Seine. The glassy river mirrored the night sky and he could see, without having to lift his head, the multitude of stars guarding the sky. Never changing shape or position, the only thing in the world that followed by his rules other than himself, they sparkled with a fierce brightness, lighting his way. He smiled then, without realizing. He also didn't realize he had just been mugged.

I don't think I could have run any harder_. What in God's name did I just do? _I thought to myself. I only saw his back, and it was shadowed because of the lamppost he was close to, so there was no way I could have made out that tell-tale ponytail. And how was I supposed to see a uniform under that ridiculous topcoat? I thought he was just a passer-by – for me to have actually stolen from infamous Inspector Javert from the Paris Police, I am so incredibly dimwitted that I'll get a lashing from my brother if he finds out. That's saying I get out of this mess with my head still intact. _He didn't seem to see me_, I rationalized, trying to settle my breathing, getting far more tired and breathless than I should be. I had only been running for a few minutes, but the fear that the Inspector sparked in my body set my heart pumping far quicker than usual and it was a pain trying to level it out while still running.

I shook my head, trying to concentrate on anything but the possibility of prison, the possibility of seeing _his face _up close, and continued to run, until I saw my chance. I twisted on my ankle and whipped into the alleyway, feeling my hair whip against my cheek. I heard the footfalls grow in volume, then recede; unable to see anything out of the alleyway without making my presence known, I trusted the sounds. So he had noticed me. _He's fast…_ I thought.

I sighed in relief, gathering my senses, and closed my eyes until my heart stopped hammering against my breastbone. I took a few long breaths, until I felt like I could open my eyes once more, and so I did.

And gazed straight into the glare of two ice-cold eyes squinted beneath thick eyebrows. A livid expression covered the face of Inspector Javert; the nostrils of his great nose were flared and the puffs of air that escaped with each heaving breath gave him the appearance of a bull. His cheeks were stained pink at the line of bone, but this just added to the threatening air of him. His arms grasped the protruding bricks of the wall of the building I was leaning against on either side of me, giving me no way to escape. I was stuck, my back forced against the cold stone as he leaned forward uncomfortably close.

"What, exactly, did you think you would achieve," said the man, "by stealing from _me_?" His voice was low and gruff and agitated. He seemed to be holding back, either from shouting or hitting me. Either he had been in a bad mood I had managed to make worse, or he was somehow enjoying himself – _Javert? Enjoy himself?_ – and I ruined his night. Neither option was favourable. And he really was abominably close. Thank God his breath didn't stink.

"To be fair," I replied hesitantly, after gathering up courage to speak to the man I had learned to fear, "I had absolutely no idea it was you until I already committed the deed, monsieur."

"You are to call me by Inspector, wench," he spat. _He really has a complex, I swear_. His bright white teeth glinted in the moonlight as he bared them like a wolf defending his kill. "Give me back what you stole, and I will not have to resort to force to bring you to the prison."

My heart filled with fear at the mention of prison. There was no way I'd survive, and even if I did, Flora's children…

"Listen, sir – Inspector, I mean, please… I didn't want to steal, I swear, but the children that live with me are starving, and their mother is very bedridden and there is no way to get any money. My brother works in a factory and barely makes enough to get us through a day, let alone a week, and I thought, if just this once—"

"You insolent girl!" He gripped my arms tightly. I could feel his fingers digging in my flesh and I knew I would be bruised tomorrow. "You committed a crime, and you honestly believed it would go without punishment? In what world do you live? In the real world, we are under the Law, and must follow it, lest we falter and suffer the consequences."

"But, Inspector, I beg you! I _will_ pay you back, I promise. Somehow! Just let me buy bread for the family. Let them eat. _Please_. I can't afford to go to jail but I promise to pay my dues in any other way you see fit. Please, I'm a young woman; I wouldn't survive a month in jail." My eyes began to sting, and I looked at my feet, trying to sell my story better. I was shocked when I felt his grip lessen. I looked up, and though his face was still hard, it certainly wasn't the glare of death I was being treated to just moments ago. Could it be that the Heartless Inspector has a heart?

Nonsense.

"Your offer intrigues me," he said. He seemed to be pondering deeply my words and it unnerved me. It seemed to him as well that what he was thinking was quite foreign and almost scary; he was clearly thinking very hard and seemed rather at war with himself. I'm sure the only comfort was that he would be able to punish me otherwise. "I will agree to this," he finally said, and scowled slightly at my wide eyes. "You may buy this bread, only for this family, and only this time. But you will pay me back, with your body."

I flushed deeply. "Excuse me?!"

His scowl darkened. "Don't imagine such vile things, woman. I mean you will work for me. You will be my spy, and you will become my subordinate officer as well, so that I know where you are and what you are doing at all times. It will be nothing to you to put yourself at risk for me and the police. You will report to my office first thing in the morning; I will get you cleaned and dressed into a proper uniform. You will listen to everything I say and do everything I tell you, without questioning me. Who knows; perhaps this might work for my benefit after all."

"And how long," I murmured shakily, "will this go on for?"

And that was when I found out that something I feared perhaps even more so than Javert's scowl was his smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I went home with my bag of bread. Javert had given me extra money, though he must have made a mistake, and I had enough for some hard candies for the children. I bought them without thinking, and when I turned to him, and realized my mistake, I tried to apologize, but he waved his gloved hand at me with mild annoyance.

"It doesn't matter," he said simply. He looked ahead with that same stony glare, but when he dared to glance at me, and saw the smile on my face, he scowled. "This doesn't mean a thing," he hissed sharply. "You'll just have to work that extra off, as well." He turned away when he saw the smile vanish.

And then he left, without another word. I figured out that any conversation with the Inspector is over when he says it is so. Not that I had any qualms with that; I was without words. My anger had dissipated, and perhaps the fear, as well. He was just another man to me; well, at least for the moment. I was sure that the fear would gladly return once I became his possession.

And so there I was, skipping over the small pools of water that had gathered between the stones from the early evening rain, on my way home with actual food in my hands and thinking about the deal. The air was still damp, and my long dark hair frizzed from the moisture. I hoped that Brother had remembered to fill the pails at the fountain so we would have water for the baths. Even though Javert said that he would get me cleaned the next morning, I felt that my usual dirty self was _too_ grimy for his world. Tonight wasn't an issue because, for one, I was being treated as a criminal, and two, the darkness of the night shadowed my filth-encrusted body. Though he might have to wash those gloves once he returned home, and saw them in the light.

Thinking over it, I decided the Inspector would probably throw them out, instead.

I knocked on the door with my foot, unable to open it, and Flora's eldest son, Loiza, answered it. His sullen and fearful face transformed into a grin when he saw me, and, upon viewing the paper bag, shouted happily, "Mamă! Tsura este aici, şi ea a adus cadourile!"

I smiled warmly as I entered, to the frail woman in the bed. The house was a single large room and a small bathroom in the back; it used to be rented to only my brother and me, but we made an agreement with Madame Florica, after we found her and her family out, confused and alone, on the street, to let them into our home, and the landlord was kind enough to make us only have to pay one person extra – she didn't count the children. They came from Hungary, part of the Lovara Rom, and were not familiar with France. They were treated with more ferocious detestation than in their home, and Florica was weak to begin with. Her four children had been taking care of her, but we couldn't let them starve on the street, and we knew that that would be the result if we let them alone.

Aishe, Jaelle, and Walther greeted me excitedly, crying, "Sora!" and, "Vere!"

"Say something in French, Tsura!" they cried.

I smiled. "Je t'aime tous beaucoup, et vous êtes tous très belles!"

They squealed and giggled and tried to repeat what I said. They didn't bother to ask what it meant. They just loved the sounds of my native tongue.

"Tsura,"said a strong and deep voice behind me, and I knew it was my brother. I smiled as he wrapped his arms around my waist and held me close. "How are you?" I felt movement, and realized he saw the bag I had twisted away from his gaze. His voice resounded close to my ear, slightly harsher, as it always becomes when he is suspicious, "What is in the bag?"

"Bread," I replied. "And candy."

The children cheered, and I saw Madame's face soften, knowing that her children would be alright. Mircea let go of me, and placed his large hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. "Where," he started slowly, "did you get the money, Tsura?"

I leaned back, and whispered into his ear, "Inspector Javert."

I saw his dark eyes grow wide, and he placed the bag on the table and pulled me outside. The street was deserted, so there wasn't a reason for him to whisper. Since he did so anyway, I knew I was in trouble.

"Javert?! Are you mad, girl? Do you understand what that man does to people like us?"

I stared at him, frowning. He knew I knew Javert had been the one to arrest our father. Of course I knew what he did to people like us.

"He didn't know that Papa was innocent—" I tried. I stopped when I realized I was defending the man I had hated and feared all my life. Also, I knew it was against our rules to speak of the dead. After Papa was arrested, we burned his clothes, and refused to eat his favourite foods.

"It doesn't matter! They didn't give him fair trial. They never give our kind fair trials." My brother glowered at me. "Javert has only his duty to the law. He would arrest his mother if she stole. By the way, did you know that he is _Mānuš_ too?"

"A Roma?" I didn't understand why I did not see it. Even though we were both under the cover of darkness, I should have been able to tell my own kind. The only thing I really saw was his startling eyes, a pale grey-green, quite unusual for a gypsy. I wondered if his father might be _Gadjé_.

"You cannot associate with this man anymore, Tsura. He's very dangerous," Mircea looked at me cautiously as he said this. He paused when I squirmed uncomfortably. "You didn't _do_ anything, did you?"

"Um, well," I stammered. I knew it was pointless to lie, so I managed to stumble out, "I might have stolen the money from him and now I have to pay him back by being his subordinate and I have to go see him tomorrow morning and I don't know when I'm coming back please don't be mad."

All that registered on my brother's face for a few moments was slight confusion, mild shock, and complete dumbfoundedness, until he gathered himself and hissed, "_What_?!" I could tell it took him every ounce of strength not to strangle me right then and there.

"Sorry."

"You _stole_ from the most _feared_ and _hated_ police officer in _all_ of Paris, perhaps all of _France_, and all you have to say is '_sorry'_?!"

"Yeah, okay, geez, don't make it such a big deal…"

"A big—!" He glared at me with wild eyes. "Are you completely insane?!"

"Listen, I'll work it off, don't worry about it."

"I have no doubt you'll work it off," he said, "but I'm far from trusting that man, and as long as you're vulnerable to him I'll be watching."

I made a face. "Don't be creepy," I said. "He isn't going to try anything funny. That man has so many rules to follow I'm surprised he hasn't literally snapped in half from all the stress."

Mircea sighed in exasperation. "This is going nowhere," he muttered. "You make sure you're careful, and you come back home whenever it's possible, and you tell me everything."

"Fine."

"I mean it." His eyes were burning. It was the angriest I had ever seen him, even more so than at Papa's funeral.

"_Fine_! Let me bathe and get some new clothes on and find that pair of black slippers I found on the street a few weeks ago." I left him there. He wouldn't move, and I wavered at the doorway a moment before sighing myself and going in.

I stepped in the large metal trough without any feeling of comfort I suspected a bath should have. The bath itself was cold and unpleasant, and I absentmindedly took the rag and rubbed and scratched at my skin until it reddened as I thought of the possible events of the next day. I wondered if I would be walking into a trap, and really be sent to prison. I wondered that if he kept his word, what terrible and dangerous predicaments he would force me in for his own amusement. I combed my fingers through my hair, wincing at the dozens of knots tied up in the thick, greasy mane. I dunked my head in the water a few times and pretended like it was actually getting cleaner. Why did I feel a need to impress these upper-class people? They would regard me as scum anyway. I looked over at my dress folded neatly on the old wooden chair. My best dress, that I'm sure wouldn't pass for rags in a home of the bourgeoisie. At least there weren't any holes or tears in it, like my other dresses and skirts. The bodice was corset too! The only thing Papa ever bought me – I cherished it. I winced at the memory. I knew that we weren't supposed to speak of the dead, but I couldn't help thinking of my father. I really felt ridiculous, but it had only been a year and a half since one of the prison men, after being released, told us the news. He had become well acquainted with my father, and said he was popular amongst the less homicidal of the men in the prison, and when he became ill with fever and died they all felt the pain. They held a day of silence for him, knowing they couldn't do anything else. The body was never returned to us, and what I always describe as "the funeral" was just the day his clothes and books were burnt.

I glanced at my sack.

Well, all except one. He had a poetry book that I had been especially fond of since my youth, and had slipped it under my shirt before the box was thrown into the fire.

I sighed and relaxed into the water, but finding it quite close to freezing, quickly jumped out. I found the one clean towel left lying around and dried myself, and put on my dress, not without difficulty. I wasn't used to the corset-type bodice, and I realized how hard it was to breathe than normal. I loosened it somewhat, and found that there are even more disadvantages to being a woman than I had previously anticipated. I had no nightshirt, so sleeping in the dress and praying it wouldn't wrinkle too badly was all I could do. Maybe if I slept sitting up… well, it would do much better than that dirt ditch I'd been lying in for the past few days, although on warm, dry nights it felt nice and smelled almost sweet, and the worms stayed underground. The family preferred us staying in the house on most nights, but we didn't consider the house as belonging to us anymore, and reasonably felt as though we were intruding.

I sighed, and gazed out the window. A light, warm, soft rain had started to fall, and from a small distance, I could hear a familiar song coming from the Opera Hall, some type of symphony or concerto, the notes shimmering through the rain and gliding with ease, enveloping me with a strange joy and comfort. I always adored orchestral music; brother said it was for the upper-class, and found it too uptight and formal, and preferred the music of our people over this. But for some reason, I didn't hate it. I felt that there was such soul in these pieces, especially the oboe and violin concertos. There was one, a piano concerto written by a man named Beethoven, and it had been the first piece of music that made me cry.

"Why are you crying?" I remember my father had asked me as I rode his shoulders. We were walking in the streets and stopped in front of the Opera House.

"Why is she so sad?" I had asked him.

"Who?"

"The singing lady," I had said, pointing to the building, where the music was emanating from. "She sounds like she's crying, so I'm crying too. Is that like how Mama sounded when she sang?"

He looked at me then, with such an indescribable expression of sadness. I felt so foolish, and never spoke about my mother to him again if I could help it. Looking back on it now, I have no idea how I could have misheard a piano as being a voice of a woman. Maybe my father thought I was intentionally upsetting him. When I tried talking to my brother, he explained to me that Mānuš do not speak of the dead. He wouldn't go into further detail, and I suspect it was because he didn't understand it himself. He had been told the same thing, and just accepted the custom.

I sighed, and hummed along to the last few strings. I sighed again as it ended, contentedly. I turned around, and set myself on the chair, laying my head over my folded arms that I rested on the table. I felt my spine crack pleasurably as it curved. I gave one last shuddering sigh, and closed my eyes.

So far into dreamland was I that I barely noticed when the thick, heavy, warm weight of my brother's wool coat was slung over my shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next morning was a flurry of excitement and anticipation – although I couldn't say that the squeezing of my stomach felt good in any way. On the contrary, I felt rushed and anxious. I couldn't find the black slippers, and it took me a good half hour to locate them. Jaelle had tried them on, pretending she was a princess, and forgot to give them back. I barely got them on before I was at the door.

"Wait! Take some bread with you!" managed Florica. I thanked her and took the smallest round loaf. I hurried out the door, trying not to trip over my own feet and I shoved the bread in my mouth, my taste buds thanking the Lord as I gulped each half-chewed bite down with relish, and then regretting every swallow as I choked.

I made it to the prison with seconds to spare. I entered in gingerly, afraid of this unfamiliar territory. No one seemed to be in, so I called out.

A familiar voice was my answer. "You're here, finally."

I whipped around and saw the face of Inspector Javert quite close to my own. Oh, yes, I see the Roma in him now. His eyes were so unnatural, though, in comparison with such richly coloured skin. But I did not find those eyes unpleasant, even though they looked as though they could literally shoot daggers into me at a moment's glance.

"I ran," was all I could reply.

"You should have woken up earlier," was his rebuttal. He suddenly grabbed my jaw, and twisted my face from side to side. "Why are you scratched?"

The question took me by surprise, so I could only answer truthfully, "I didn't think that my usual dirty self would be up to the standards of this place." I was especially vague on how I said 'this place', but he understood perfectly, and let go of me quickly and fiercely.

"It didn't help you any," he said curtly. "I said I was going to get you cleaned, didn't I? Why did you bother?"

"I didn't…" I trailed off, feeling very embarrassed. I tugged at the skirt of my dress, and looked down at my feet.

"Well, no use wasting time arguing about this. Come with me, I'll show you to my quarters, and you'll get cleaned – _properly_, this time – and dressed into the uniform I will supply you."

"Wait, what?! A uniform? You said I just had to be your spy. I'm okay with that, if only for my own survival. And I can do other miscellaneous deeds, but a uniform? What if my friends catch me?"

"Do you want to be thrown in jail?" he glared at me purposefully. "I would never do this in normal situations. Frankly, I feel as though I've been possessed, so I dare you to spit on my courtesy and consideration and see how far it takes you." He gave me another stony stare before adding, "I am only doing this because I know that you will listen to me. You risk putting your family in danger otherwise."

"Are you blackmailing me?" I was incredulous.

"On the contrary, I am telling you information otherwise confidential. The Roma are becoming rowdy, and if I had been any other police officer, you, your family and the family that you stole for would be put in the darkest, coldest cell for the remainder of your days."

"Is it because you're one of us that you're doing this? Do you feel compassion—?"

"_Stop_." I never thought a look, even one coming from Inspector Javert, could be so chilling. My body numbed as I stared back into the icy depths of his irises. I was transfixed, but my muscles twitched and shivered. I understood right then the dangerous ground I had just tripped on, and thought that it wouldn't be so foolish if I was to fear for my life. "You will never speak that way to me." His voice almost quivered with rage, and another emotion I just couldn't put a name to. "Never, ever speak of where I came from. You have no idea who I am. Do not believe for one second that just because we wear the same skin that you know everything about me and understand my soul completely. You never can, and never will."

His words bore a strange wound in me, by how he said them. They were hurtful words to begin with, but the quiet anger and untitled feelings he spoke them with and the fact he never broke away from my gaze alarmed me.

"Inspector, I…" I stopped, and looked down, before meeting his eyes again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I am just as clueless to why you have not locked me up, perhaps more so, than you are."

His gaze did not soften this time. He turned away, and before he left me alone in his quarters, said quietly but sharply, "Clean yourself, and attempt to make yourself look at least somewhat presentable. You will never speak to me so freely again."

I felt sympathy for him, however, when his back was no longer visible and the clicking of his boots receded down the hall. I wondered why he acted so ferociously to the mention of his heritage.

When I stepped into the bath, all those muddled thoughts slipped out of my mind and the only thing I focused on was how deliciously warm the water was and how he had an actual bar of soap. I was in heaven for a good twenty minutes, before realizing there was a point to this, and getting dressed into the uniform he had folded in an almost meticulous manner on the chair.

The uniform was likely expected to be drab, but to my eyes it was a remarkable piece. I tied my hair up messily and found his office after a few moments of exploration and searching. He seemed to be the only one on duty, so I was not caught in the halls and questioned. _Good_, I thought, _because I would have no clue what to say._

I stepped to the door of his office, but I hesitated. Before I could knock the door, however, he startled me with a sharp "Enter!" from the other side of it.

I entered slowly to his command, and saw him sitting behind his desk, rigid as when he stood. I wondered how stiff his muscles must be. _To have such rigidity in both soul and manner is unnerving, to say the least_, I thought.

"Monsieur Inspector, I—"

"Apologizing is meaningless. I understand that you don't know any better, or at least that was the case before I told you otherwise." He was barely paying attention to me now, writing down something, likely important, with a falcon quill. "I assume you will not make another such mistake?" He paused to look at me, his eyebrows raised. It took me a moment to realize the question wasn't rhetorical.

"Oh, of course. I won't ever do it again, Inspector, I—"

"See that you don't." What was with him and cutting me off so bluntly?! He paused with whatever he was writing to look up at me again. He seemed almost pleased with how the uniform fit, until he reached my head and—

"What the _hell_ did you do to your hair?" What, so he had to cut off my inner monologue too? What was this guy's problem?

"What? I thought I'd fashion it like yours, make it less inconvenient and bothersome."

"For the love of God." He placed his quill down and got up, taking a brush from inside one of his desk drawers before coming up behind me. He undid the ribbon, and handed it to me. "Are you really this incompetent?" he asked, before brushing my hair.

I gasped. I haven't had my hair brushed by another person – or really at all – since I was a little girl. It felt strangely… very, very good. This must be another one of his complexes, because he's treating me gently now, running his hand down my hair, following the brush's strokes. Hard enough to get the knots out, but not so hard as to cause me physical pain. I didn't understand why he had suddenly changed attitudes. Maybe he was paternal. He took the ribbon from me, and I was surprised how gently he plucked it from my hand. He tied my hair taut, gave the ends one last brush, and set me in front of the mirror.

"I look…" I trailed off, and brought a hand up to my face. My flesh was clean! I looked clean! Javert looked at me, in his eyes an indiscernible mix of emotion. Something along the lines of disgust and contempt, I imagined.

"You'll have to get used to it, I'm afraid." I turned around to face him. He really is a terrible judge of character sometimes.

"You don't understand," I said softly. "I'm happy." I turned back to face myself. Softly, I added, "I look almost pretty."

This time Javert actually did look surprised, especially when I felt and admired my hair. He coughed, and looked away. "You really are a strange person. Stealing at one moment, acting almost normal at the next."

I scowled up at him. "I wouldn't do such a thing on purpose. You know, you really have the wrong idea about who I am. Just because I stole doesn't make me a bad person. The world isn't black and white."

It looked as though I had just punched him. He quickly regained composure, but his eyes were wild. "Once a thief, always a thief. You are not a kind-hearted person; you are a wretched girl from the streets. I am surprised you are not a prostitute." He really knew how to put people down. I blinked back tears. I wasn't used to being insulted; I had been more or less hidden away from this world, and although I was aware of it, I never experienced it on a normal basis.

"You do understand," I said harshly, "That I am an actual human being, with feelings?"

"It would surprise me."

"You are a heartless bastard."

"And you are a vagabond. I'm glad we are in agreement."

"About _what_?"

Before I could come up with an answer as to what in all hells we were "agreeing" about, someone knocked at the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The subordinate officer entered, with a tentative, "Inspector?" He seemed quite surprised at my being there, and I wondered if Javert had mentioned me whatsoever, let alone discussed me to his superiors.

"Yes?" Javert, whether acting or not, sounded quite annoyed at having been intruded – he seems to take a secret joy in arguing. "Well? What do you want?" A silent, nervous glance from the young man, before he was startled by Javert saying sharply, "Out with it, boy!"

"Monsieur Inspector, the Commandant would like to talk to you." The boy looked at me. "Bring her as well."

"Very well," replied Javert curtly. "Move aside."

We passed the boy too slowly for my tastes. I could see the displeasure in his eyes, even if he stood upright and respectful as the Inspector passed him by. I realized that it wasn't the Inspector the boy disliked – it was me.

"Enter," said a voice from behind the door. Javert opened it without hesitation and ushered me in roughly, but without losing any of his composure. The man really has a way of making himself look like Justice itself. The Commandant looked at the two of us without batting an eye. How many times, exactly, did the Inspector bring in new kids off the street? Is that why the snob-nosed kid looked so peeved, because he isn't Javert's favourite anymore?

Well he didn't have to worry. The way Javert was manhandling me I could tell I wasn't his most preferred either.

"Monsieur Commandant, why is it that we were called down here, if I may be so bold as to ask?" I gaped at him. Wasn't he a subordinate to this guy? Speaking so openly… just who is this man?

"I'll overlook that boldness, Javert. I called you down here because I would like to know what business _she _has here," pointing to me, "and in _that_," motioning to my uniform.

"I need someone other than myself who knows the streets of this city, but most importantly, someone whose face won't be recognized as mine is. She has offered her services to me so that I have someone useful assisting me on patrols."

"I understand," started the Commandant slowly, looking as though he was pondering deeply as he looked me over. His intense stare was beginning to make me uncomfortable. "However, you could have asked Luc or Jean-Richard. They are knowledgeable about the streets as well."

"They are too young," replied Javert matter-of-factly. I wondered if the boy that called us down was one of the two mentioned, and if so, which one he was.

"She is young as well," said the superior officer.

"She is hardened – those boys have not seen the things they will when they are older, the things they have to see. At the moment, they are too sensitive mentally, and will not be able to handle it. I don't want to have to deal with that." He took a sidelong glance to me before adding, "Especially on a daily basis." His jaw tightened as he looked at his commanding officer. "Besides," he said, "she knows the street in a criminal's perspective, which will prove quite useful."

The Commandant raised his eyebrow as he switched his gaze from the ridiculously out-spoken Javert to me. I was ready to strangle the Inspector.

"I have lived my life on the street – I know the ins and outs of every corner." I glared at Javert as I added, "I do not know if that gives me the eyes of a criminal, but as long as I am useful, it is fine with me."

Javert looked down at me, and I couldn't tell what his eyes were saying, so I looked back to the Commandant.

The superior officer sighed, exasperated. "Fine, Javert, do what you want. You are the most useful man on this team, as much as it begrudges me to admit it. Besides, you have the authority to hire new candidates. Just see to it _this one_ stays out of trouble."

"I thank you, sir. Will that be all?"

"Yes. Go, both of you. And _you_," he murmured, staring me down with suddenly frigid eyes, "be careful."

"I'll make sure she's on her best behaviour," said Javert, and I was surprised at the black undertone that was laced in his deep voice. We left quickly, and Javert brought me outside.

"I really wish that man would keep his prejudices to himself," said Javert darkly.

I didn't have to ask what he meant. I felt bad that Javert had to suffer that – I could understand why he hated me, even if the reasons were warped in logic. But Javert had never done anything wrong, at least in the eyes of the Law.

"I am sorry that you have to have that kind of person as your superior officer."

Javert looked down at me, his eyebrows raised. I kept his gaze for a while, but he turned away and fixed his hat. "Yes, well, such things are to be expected," he replied curtly, and began walking. I had to jog to catch up – that man has long legs!

I skipped over to his side. I couldn't suppress the strange smile I felt all of a sudden I needed to show. Javert looked down at me, and raised his thick eyebrow again. "What are you smiling about?"

"I don't know," I said, a joy welling inside me. I think it was the fact no one looked at me with disgust as I walked down the street. "This uniform does strange things, doesn't it?"

Javert's expression turned to one of extreme confusion. He turned his head from me and kept looking forward. "If you say so," he muttered.

I grinned back at him. The air was fresh, and the smell of bread wafting in the air made feel comforted. I could not feel bad today.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

We returned later on that day to his office after a boring day patrol – I found out Javert did the evening patrol every night but would often take over for the afternoon patrollers, or at least assist them, when paperwork didn't have to be done. Seemed the other men were not as faithful and devoted to their work as he was.

"Sir, what are we to do now?" I asked as we entered his office.

"We are to do paperwork. This job is not about adventure every single day. Moreover, since you will be my subordinate for long term, I expect you to do everything required of an officer of your position. That includes paperwork."

"I get it."

"Do you, now?"

"_Yes_," I emphasized, grabbing the quill and a stack of papers, "I _do_."

We continued in silence. The papers were a torture after the first hour, and close to impossible to pay attention to by the third. Still I kept at it, for whenever I would stray, I felt the Inspector's hard eyes burn holes in my neck. I sighed when I checked his pocket-watch, which he had left on the bureau. It did not help when a cold gust of wind blew half of my stack of papers to the floor. I hurriedly scrambled to pick them up – luckily they did not blow too far away from each other and I was able to quickly bring the sheets back to their proper order. I slammed the window shut and looked at Javert with wild eyes.

"What. The. Hell."

He raised an eyebrow. "I left the window open to air out my office. The air was becoming stale."

I glared at him. "It is _freezing_, I pray you _do_ realize."

He glared back. "Then start a fire in the oven."

I huffed. "I don't want to do anything potentially damaging to your workplace, sir."

He sighed. "That is a rational enough reason to give, so I'll do it." I muttered "thank you" as he rose, but I could not tell if he heard me, as he made no acknowledgement.

He opened the oven door that was behind the bureau and began adding wood, tapping it with the poker, then prodding at the embers to get the flames started once again. He did not notice the sparks that flew out and landed in the wastebasket. He did, however, notice the small fire that had started.

Suddenly I saw the man's eyes widen, his lips tightening to the ends of his jaw. In a flash, he was leaping up, slamming the stove and running to the basket all at once. He took a moment to stare, as if in disbelief, and then scrambled around for something to find to put out the fire. He took a large rag that was hanging on the coat rack, and in dashing back to the basket he tripped and let go of it. He regained his balance and grabbed the cloth, and threw it with a vigorous force into the bin, making sounds in the back of his throat when the flames licked menacingly at the sides and wincing when he felt the heat. He went to the table in the corner and got the cold coffee. He returned and upended it with an odd, tight expression, watching intently as steam rose from the now wet wastepaper basket.

I watched all this in stunned silence. I had never seen Javert act out, and other than his limited range of negative emotions, I had never seen anything more than a crooked, sarcastic half-smile or eyebrow raise from him. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with effort. He looked at me suddenly, his eyes bright and wide, and his mouth drawn taught.

"So, um, sir…" I trailed off, unknowing of what to say. I was drawing a blank, but I knew I had to speak.

"Is it strange that I dislike fire?" Why did this bothersome man _always_ have to make a sarcastic comment? Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? "Oh? Are you attempting to console me?"

I shot him a dark look. I was surprised when I got a reaction – a twitch of his eye. That fire _really_ must have perturbed him.

"You know, when I was a kid I was afraid of thunder. I grew out of it, luckily, but all the same. It isn't something to be ashamed of." I got up, and put a hand on his shoulder. He pushed me away, scowling.

"Do not treat me like some kind of child; I am not afraid of fire, you foolish woman. I did not wish to risk burning my office, or the jail, to cinders."

"We must return to the papers," he said harshly. I sighed, realizing that with his normal heartbeat, his nasty personality was restored.


End file.
